


Waves to the Shore

by Plath_and_Laster



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Introspection, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Recovery, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plath_and_Laster/pseuds/Plath_and_Laster
Summary: “I will always be there to guide you home.”“And I will always come back to you.”(Ryou/Fubuki one-shot series)
Relationships: Marufuji Ryou | Zane Truesdale/Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes
Comments: 30
Kudos: 47





	1. Boundless

**Author's Note:**

> GX in the year of Our Lord 2020? What has my life come to? 
> 
> I...I love these two a lot. This is primarily for warmup purposes, so these will all be short and simple ~~with minimal editing oh God~~. There’s no real chronology present, but plenty of entries will also take place before or after the canon timeline. Thank you, and have a wonderful day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And before he knew it, he believed it, too.

Ryou grew up...focused. Measured. Every action was meditated on beforehand, every bit of effort was precisely controlled to avoid excess expenditures. He could not afford to be impulsive. He knew he had to be efficient to succeed. He had to maximize his own output because no one else was going to do it for him. Wasted energy wasn’t going to make him a better duelist, a more competitive student, a son more worthy of his father’s nonexistent time. 

So he was always careful, always observant, always calculated. He proceeded through duels and academics alike with a straightforward deliberateness that instantly earned him the respect of those around him. He truly did enjoy dueling, but he couldn’t let his own feelings cloud his judgment. If he allowed his desires to control him rather than the other way around, he would find himself on the losing end of a match very quickly. He was sure of it.

When he arrived at Duel Academy, he’ll admit he was a little surprised to find that his biggest competition would be someone like Tenjouin Fubuki. Ryou was intrigued by his seemingly effortless brilliance, by how charming and easygoing he was at literally every moment of the day, but he knew it wouldn’t last. It simply wasn’t possible. Accessible energy was a finite resource—entropy was inevitable. Just because Fubuki appeared to be completely unbothered by the constraints of his own humanity didn’t mean they weren’t there. Only a few weeks into the school year, Ryou was already finding himself almost dreading the day when his bright, overly-energetic classmate would eventually burn out.

But that was the thing.

Fubuki never burned out.

If anything, he just grew brighter, and Ryou quickly had to concede that Fubuki was a force of nature unlike anything the universe had ever seen. Even stars burn out, for heaven’s sake, yet Fubuki was tireless, determined, awe-inspiring. His potential was limitless. Ryou could never look away.

Once or twice, Ryou almost found himself _envious_ of his new friend’s ability to communicate with everyone, of his infinitely generous heart, of his dauntless inner strength. He was fearless, kind, and full of dreams. He shared his hopes freely with Ryou, stretched out beside him on his bed, his favorite cards fanned out before them on the sheets. He truly believed in the best of himself. In the best of others. In the magic and beauty of achieving your goals without destroying yourself in the process. Energy could not be destroyed, after all, only transferred or changed to another form. If you could adapt, you could be a star forever.

And before he knew it, Ryou believed it, too.

Fubuki makes him feel as though anything is possible, like any dream is a tangible reality if you fight for it hard enough. He makes him _want_ to fight for it—he makes him _want_ in the first place. His heart beats again when he’s with Fubuki, when his best friend smiles at him and tells him that he’s a brilliant duelist, that he’s a wonderful friend, that he’s more than enough just by being himself. His good will is infectious. His dreams are inspiring. His love, wholly unexpected as it had been at first, is a saving grace.

When they duel, every turn reflects words unspoken. Fubuki wears his heart on his sleeve and shows it through his cards, never once biting back his feelings for anything. He duels to communicate, to make connections, and his emotions sing loud and clear with every move he makes, with every expression on his face. When they duel, Fubuki tells him everything—when they duel, Ryou happily responds in kind.

So when Fubuki starts grinning during Ryou’s turn and gets that _look_ in his eyes, Ryou welcomes the incredibly unique thrill of knowing that Fubuki is already formulating a counter to his latest strategy. Likewise, when Fubuki catches his gaze as he sets a card and bursts into bright, beautiful laughter, it’s because he knows that Ryou is already onto him. It’s an intoxicating feeling, that mutual understanding, that nigh-psychic awareness of someone who knows you as deeply as you know yourself. He feels whole when Fubuki sees through him. He feels alive.

When they’re together, whether in the classroom or at the lighthouse, every moment is another breath taken in this boundless, glorious world that Fubuki has introduced him to. From this vantage point, tomorrow stretches out before him, an infinite horizon of cloudless blues, of starry skies, of brilliant vermillion and gold sunsets. There’s nothing to worry about—no grades, no tests, no reputations to uphold—just the two of them and their profound connection that sings with every move they make. Their dreams are out there waiting for them. All that’s left now is to go.

And when they’re lying beside each other on Ryou’s bed after the day is over and Fubuki asks to see his cards, it’s the easiest thing to just pass him his deck. Easier still is the smile that spreads across his face as Fubuki cuddles up closer to him and coos over how wonderfully his monsters performed today. And sure, he could be worried about letting his only rival and greatest competition study his deck so closely, but he isn’t.

Not when this is _their_ world. Not when Fubuki is the one who showed it to him.


	2. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if the whole thing is a little silly, he knows what he’d wish for in a heartbeat.

Marufuji Ryou doesn’t giggle. He isn’t in the habit of letting giddiness sweep him up like that, nor is he prone to the fits of excited nervousness that might engender it. He doesn’t even _laugh_ all that much under normal circumstances. It just isn’t in his nature to be openly amused by things, and if he’s being honest, most jokes tend to fly right over his head, anyway.

This, though. This is different. He’s never felt this way before, adrenaline zipping along his nerves like electricity. His breaths are short, and speaking of breathing, has it always been this loud? Every inhalation flutters in his chest, dancing frenetically alongside the excitement he feels bubbling in his stomach. For the first time in his life, Marufuji Ryou feels like giggling.

He doesn’t, though—he can’t afford to blow their cover like that. Instead, he pushes the instinct aside and follows Fubuki down the tree outside his dorm room, careful to stay quiet. He doesn’t bother fighting the grin that’s forming on his face, though. _That_ doesn’t make a sound, and besides, it matches Fubuki’s.

His lover takes his hand as soon as they’re both on solid ground and tugs him towards the docks. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms that they’ve escaped the Obelisk Blue dormitories undetected, and despite being out well after curfew, Ryou doesn’t feel anxious in the slightest.

Only exhilarated.

He follows Fubuki to the water, matching his confident strides and almost— _almost_ —giggling every time he catches his eye. Fubuki has no such reservations, of course, and he’s practically dissolved into quiet laughter by the time they’re out of sight and sound. Ryou doesn’t chastise him, though. How can he when he’s feeling the same way?

“You really do like sneaking out, don’t you?” He teases, his voice a low murmur. Fubuki tosses him a bright, easy smile and Ryou swears his heart actually skips a beat.

“Don’t _you?_ ”

“I must if I keep doing it.” He admits. Fubuki tugs him closer and settles his hands on Ryou’s chest, his voice thoughtful and slightly mischievous when he speaks again.

“Maybe I’m just really good at convincing you to break the rules.”

Ryou finally laughs at that, albeit quietly. “That, too.”

It’s so easy to wrap his arms around Fubuki’s waist, so easy to lean in and kiss him. The contact is soft and tender, all of the gentle sweetness that Ryou has come to associate Fubuki with since first meeting him over a year ago. Ryou strokes the base of his spine with his thumb and Fubuki sighs into his mouth, pressing closer. He’s so warm.

They eventually separate, but they don’t go far—Fubuki lays his head on Ryou’s shoulder and he lets him, more than content to keep holding him for the time being. He likes how this feels, quiet, pleasant. Peaceful. He’s never been the type of person to stand around and do nothing for the sake of it, but it doesn’t feel like “nothing” when he’s with Fubuki.

“I’m going to make a wish,” Fubuki announces, not moving from his place in Ryou’s arms. “You should, too.”

“Yeah?”

Ryou gazes up at the vast night sky. The stars are shimmering overhead, too numerous to count, luminous despite their relatively small size.

“Aren’t you only supposed to make wishes on the moving ones?”

Fubuki’s laugh is muffled by his shirt and Ryou smiles softly, stroking his hair.

“I don’t think it matters. Maybe the not-moving ones want to be wished on, too.”

It’s such a charmingly Fubuki-like answer that Ryou feels no need to try disproving it, never mind that shooting stars aren’t even stars at all. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.

Wrapped up in him as he is, he can smell Fubuki’s favorite shampoo, can feel the warmth of him against his chest, can remember the softness of their kiss. He can still see that brilliant grin on his face the first time he suggested that they sneak out to go look at the stars, and even now, he’s never been able to resist that smile, that boundless enthusiasm, that infinite love for life itself.

Ryou is happy here. He’s happy with Fubuki. Even if the whole thing is a little silly, he knows what he’d wish for in a heartbeat.

“Did you make a wish, Ryou?”

Fubuki lifts his head from his shoulder, gazing at him with bright, adoring eyes. He’s beautiful, ethereal beyond compare, and Ryou kisses him long and slow under the stars.

“Yeah,” he murmurs against his mouth, stroking his cheek. “I did.”

_I wish I could always stay here with you_.


	3. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, there’s a word for people like you.” He says flatly.

The sunlight sparkles off the water, casting strange glitters in Ryou’s vision. It isn’t bright enough to hurt, but it does dazzle him, distracting him long enough for Fubuki to rush by in a blur of laughter and long brown hair. He’s knee-deep in the surf before Ryou can even blink, and he shakes his head, a small smile quirking his lips.

“Careful,” he calls after him, bending down to finish rolling his pants up. “Don’t trip.”

Fubuki makes a hilariously affronted noise in response to his cautionary advice.

“Tenjouin Fubuki does not “trip” in his natural element,” he boasts. “The water and I are very good friends, I’ll have you know.”

Ryou glances up for the sole purpose of giving Fubuki a dubious look, not even needing words to remind his boyfriend of all the incidents wherein his supposed “natural element” had made a fool of him. Sure, Fubuki is more comfortable and graceful in the water than anyone Ryou has ever met, but he still has his moments. Ryou has every last one of them on mental file so he can remind Fubuki of his mortality when necessary.

“Just don’t fall in before I get there.”

Fubuki laughs, not a trace of ill-will about him despite Ryou’s sacrilegious remarks. He can hear him splashing around without a care in the world as he finishes the second cuff, and he straightens up, satisfied. Up to his knees should be high enough to keep his pants from getting too wet, right...?

_SPLASH!_

Ryou staggers, too shocked to make any sort of sound. The sudden surge of water stuns him, somehow missing his face but drenching the rest of his upper body. For a moment, he stays completely frozen, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin—then he looks up, narrowing his eyes at his madly grinning boyfriend.

“Gotcha!” Fubuki giggles, looking far too pleased with himself. Ryou frowns.

“Really?”

His boyfriend is completely unfazed by the disapproval evident in his voice and even has the audacity to _wink_ at him. Ryou would be baffled if he hadn’t already spent the last year and a half getting used to it.

“You looked a little hot. I thought maybe I could help you cool off,” he teases. Ryou is unimpressed by his reasoning.

“You know, there’s a word for people like you.” He says flatly. Naturally, Fubuki’s glee at his response only heightens in intensity and he tilts his head, an innocent smile on his face.

“Oh? And what is that? Charming? Delightful? A joy to have in class?” He taps his chin, feigning thoughtfulness, then continues. “Or are we currently leaning more towards the “insufferable” and “a menace to society” categories?”

He clearly knows that Ryou isn’t angry—of course he isn’t. It’s nigh impossible to be mad at Fubuki, and even then, he wouldn’t get upset over something as silly as his clothes getting wet. Will it be inconvenient to have to wait for them to dry out? Of course. Is it worth making a fuss over? _Hardly_. Fubuki is well-aware of this, hence the teasing. The fact that he can read him so effortlessly makes their relationship run a lot smoother, but the tradeoff is that Fubuki can be absolutely _relentless_ when it comes to things like this. Ryou is convinced that it’s a fair price to pay for finally being understood.

Nevertheless, he fixes Fubuki with the most unamused look he can manage, encouraged by the mirth glimmering in his brown eyes.

“Impossible.”

Fubuki bursts out into laughter and Ryou grins at the beautiful, happy sound, easily forsaking his dignity to join him in the water. And if he ends up even more soaked than he was before, well, that’s just an occupational hazard. It’s absolutely worth every moment.


	4. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now he wants to know what happens next.

_Someone like him could never fall in love with someone like me_.

Ryou is sixteen when he first finds himself thinking that, unable to think much else as he watches his effervescent, endlessly sociable best friend chatter on with some classmates like it’s the easiest thing in the world when Ryou knows perfectly well that it isn’t. Talking is hard. Making friends is even harder. He got lucky with Fubuki, unbelievably lucky, but Fubuki is only one person and Ryou didn’t actually _do_ anything to become his friend. It just sort of...happened. He knows better than to think it’ll ever happen like that again with anyone else, and he knows better than to hope that Fubuki—bright, beautiful, radiant Fubuki—would ever settle for someone like him.

How could he? Ryou is only being honest when he’s critical of his own flaws. Where his peers admire his quiet aloofness, he feels strangled by his inability to properly communicate with those around him. Where teachers praise his methodical efficiency, he laments that his mechanical approach to life alienates anyone who tries to get close to him. Where his younger brother sees a replica of their father, he sees—well. As far as Ryou is concerned, he isn’t just a replica, he _is_ their father, emotionless mask and all. Fubuki couldn't possibly fall in love with someone like that, and Ryou doesn’t want him to. He deserves someone who smiles and laughs and loves like he does.

Despite his reservations, however, he can’t help but dream. 

He’s just...Fubuki. He’s so beautiful that it takes his breath away. He’s everything Ryou never knew he wanted, everything he never knew he needed. Being around Fubuki is like flying, it’s like winning, and it’s like all of the exhilaration and wonderment that comes with those things. He’s never felt so free, so _alive_ until Fubuki came along, and he cherishes it so much more than anything else in his life.

Fubuki took his hand and didn’t judge him for his silence, didn’t try to push through his reticence. He waited patiently, showing Ryou that he could be trusted, that he could be leaned on. That he understood. That he was different. Ryou had found himself reaching out to do the same on his own accord, wanting nothing more than to feel that again. To be known by someone else. To be close enough to share every moment. 

Now he wants to know what happens next.

He wants to know what it feels like to kiss Fubuki, what it feels like to lean in and whisper his name and press their lips together. He wants to pull him closer, to run his fingers through his hair—would it feel different than Fubuki’s frequent hugs, than all the time they spend together shoulder-to-shoulder? Would that trembling in his chest only intensify with proximity, with intimacy? He doesn’t know. He’s never thought about things like this before.

And Fubuki makes it so easy to think about, too. He’s so openly affectionate, so liberal with his hair-petting and shoulder-squeezes and forehead-kisses that it takes almost no effort at all to imagine what the rest of it would feel like. He wants it. He _wants_ it. The longing suffocates him, wraps tight around his heart and _crushes_ every time Fubuki smiles at him or says his name, and all he wants is to speak. To be honest. To kiss his best friend and tell him that he makes him feel safe, that he makes him feel happy. That spending forever by his side suddenly doesn’t seem like such a strange thing to wish for.

But...

_Someone like him could never fall in love with someone like me_.

...right?


	5. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still. Whatever the reason, watching Fubuki reminisce on sunlit days gone by makes his heart do strange things.

Fubuki’s hand is warm in his own, his grip firm as he tugs him forward. The sea breeze catches in his long hair, dark-chocolate strands whipping around his face as he glances over his shoulder and smiles at him, a brilliant expression that always makes Ryou’s chest tighten with how beautiful it is.

“Found it!” His boyfriend cheers. Ryou tucks away a smile of his own.

“We just came here yesterday,” he reminds him, and Fubuki laughs brightly.

“Well, yeah! But you know how _terrible_ I am with directions. We could’ve ended up on the other side of the island!”

Ryou tries and mostly fails to stifle a snort, all-too aware of the painful truth that his boyfriend is confessing to. As Fubuki’s preferred (and often only) exploring partner, Ryou has been on the wrong end of his incredible ability to get hopelessly lost more times than he can count. The fact that they actually made it here in the short amount of time that they did is a miracle indeed.

“Anyway,” Fubuki continues, gazing up at their destination. “I just get excited whenever I see it. It’s such a great tree! It reminds me of the one I loved to climb when I was a kid.”

Ryou stands beside him, admittedly more interested in the expression on Fubuki’s face than the tree in question. He’s always soft, but there’s a nostalgic tenderness to his features whenever he speaks about things like this that Ryou has always been mesmerized by. What does he see to warrant such gentleness? What does he remember that makes him so happy? It’s beautiful to witness and Ryou can’t help but to be curious.

Perhaps it’s because his own childhood was so stifled and unremarkable in comparison, a neat disaster of schedules, studying, and emotional suppression. He hadn’t played much while growing up—by his own choice, he simply hadn’t possessed the time to do so. There were more important, less mentally-taxing things to do with his life than play games with his younger brother or make friends at school. It isn't as though he hadn't wanted to, at least for a while there...he'd just done his best to convince himself that he didn't need it.

Still. Whatever the reason, watching Fubuki reminisce on sunlit days gone by makes his heart do strange things.

“Shall we?”

Fubuki has turned to him, offering a hand, his expression dazzling and expectant. Ryou knows it’s just a gesture—they’ll need both of their hands to climb the tree, after all—but he reaches out, anyway, just because he can. Just because reaching out never seems as hard when it’s Fubuki’s hand he’s taking. 

“Of course.”

He’s living those sunlit days with Fubuki right now. More than anything else, he wants to make the most of it in ways he’s never had the chance to before.


	6. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would say it’s a good mood, but really, Fubuki is always _like this_.

He wakes up that morning with his head on Fubuki’s chest.

This is, admittedly, not unusual. They have a tendency to fall asleep all over each other—in each other’s arms, heads on their shoulders, tucked into their chests, tangled up all through the night without stirring. Ryou never thought he was much of a cuddler, but then he’d met Fubuki in high school, _and then_ they’d started sharing a bed. The rest, as they say, is history.

But he wakes up that morning with his head on Fubuki’s chest, his heartbeat steady and soothing in his ears. He can feel him breathing, can tell without looking that he’s still asleep just based on how even it is. The sunlight is peeking in through the drawn curtains, everything is quiet, and Ryou is at peace.

It’s...nice.

He isn’t sure how long he dozes there, drifting somewhere between sleep and true wakefulness, but he’s eventually returned to his senses by the feeling of a hand stroking carefully over his hair. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

“Good morning, love,” Fubuki murmurs, brushing his bangs back. “Did you sleep well?”

Ryou nods. The early sunlight is shining off his husband’s hair, highlighting the dark, silky strands with gold. His brown eyes are soft with sleep and love, and his answering smile is slow and sweet.

“You look so cute,” he coos, his voice still a little rough. “Your hair is all messy.”

Ryou frowns, but makes no attempt at defending himself, knowing better after all these years than to try and convince Fubuki otherwise. The man had been hell-bent on calling him _cute_ since the day they met, practically, and all the time they’ve spent together since has just seemed to add proof to that conjecture. His hair is a wreck? Cute. He’s falling asleep watching TV? Cute. He’s talking to his monsters again? _Very cute._ Once his husband decides on something—especially something silly like that—it’s all over. Thus far, he’s refrained from gushing to all of his coworkers about how adorable he is, but Ryou knows that it’s only a matter of time before his reputation is ruined forever.

That being said, though, he doesn’t really mind so much. Especially when Fubuki is looking at him like that, as though he’s happy just to be in his presence. As though he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. As though he wakes up every day excited to see him again. Ryou has hardly said a word this morning, and Fubuki is already acting like this.

He would say it’s a good mood, but really, Fubuki is always _like this_. Warm. Caring. Prone to embarking on lengthy tangents about how cute or pretty or wonderful he is. Initially, Ryou had been...baffled, honestly, unable to see or even really care about the various virtues that Fubuki extolled so easily. Ryou hadn’t known he was any of those things, but Fubuki treated it like simple fact. It has taken a while to get used to. By this point in his life, he’s grown to appreciate it.

Because he’s happy here. Comfortable. Content. He gets to wake up next to this man every day. He gets to kiss him and hold his hand and listen to him sing while he does chores. Ryou can’t imagine being anywhere else than surrounded by Fubuki’s open affection.

“I love you.”

He speaks without thinking—the words are just a natural progression of his current emotions. They certainly aren’t a natural progression of the conversation they’d started already, although that’s hardly unusual. He isn’t exactly an expert at human interaction. Even with his husband. Still, the momentary lapse in concentration is well-worth the bright smile on Fubuki’s face.

“I love you, too.”


	7. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that very moment, Ryou accidentally steps on his foot, and he grimaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious, the song that Fubuki hums is the first minute or so of No. 9 ( _Am Donaustrande_ ) from Brahms' Liebeslieder Waltzer, Op. 52. The Liebeslieder Waltzes are SO fun to perform and listen to - my personal favorite is No. 13, _Vögelein durchrauscht die Luft_. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“Study break time!” Fubuki announces, covering Ryou’s eyes with his hands. “Put the book away! It’s time to stand up for ten minutes and do something else!”

Ryou sighs, but allows for the interruption. Besides, if he doesn’t indulge him now, his boyfriend will just get even more insufferable about it.

“What did you have in mind?”

Fubuki claps his hands in delight at Ryou’s cooperation, practically bouncing around the room at the prospect of breaking him away from his overzealous study habits.

“Shall we take a walk?” He asks, but before Ryou can reply, Fubuki is already literally jumping over to a new train of thought. “Ooh! Wait! I know!”

With that, he grabs Ryou’s hand and forcibly yanks him out of his chair. He yelps despite himself and stumbles, but fortunately for his shot balance, Fubuki is right there to catch him. Ryou supposes it’s the least he could do, seeing as he’s the reason why he nearly fell on his face in the first place.

“Fubuki!” He chastises, a bit startled by the near-fall. “Be careful!”

True to form, Fubuki is hardly abashed by the scolding. He makes a big show of dusting off Ryou’s shoulders and kissing his cheek, mouth curved in a teasing—albeit decently apologetic—smile.

“Sorry, sorry~” He says in a sing-song tone. “I just had a brilliant idea!”

Ryou sighs again. “And that is...?”

Fubuki beams at him, pulling him into his arms. Briefly, he bumps his nose against Ryou’s own in a playful gesture before rearranging their positions, placing one of Ryou’s hands on his waist. He takes the other in his own, then looks at him expectantly.

“...dancing?” Ryou finishes his own thought. “Really?”

“You need to keep practicing leading!” Fubuki reminds him, all effervescent cheer. “You’ll never get better if you don’t practice!”

Ryou will admit that he is correct in this assertion. That’s how pretty much everything else works, after all, and seeing as the clock is already ticking down the time left for his “study break” (and Fubuki is just so excited), he figures he may as well get this show started.

“Alright, then.” He concedes, and Fubuki giggles at the resignation in his voice. “Are we waltzing?”

“Yep!”

Ryou adjusts his hands, trying not to stand too stiffly. Fubuki is always getting onto him about how rigid his posture is, and according to him, dancing only makes it all the more obvious.

“Here we go,” he mutters, more for himself than for his boyfriend, and steps forward.

Everything feels a little clunky at first—he’s still a little shy about the whole “guiding” thing even though he knows the proper steps by now—but after a few cycles, he starts to get into the rhythm of it again. Fubuki helps him keep time by tapping the ¾ pattern against his shoulder and humming a few bars of some Brahms piece that Ryou can’t quite recall the name of. After a few false starts, he even manages to lead him through a turn, which is rather unprecedented. It’s strangely thrilling to have achieved, and he smiles, encouraged by the matching one on his boyfriend’s face.

“You’ve improved so much!” Fubuki notes. “I’m proud of you!”

At that very moment, Ryou accidentally steps on his foot, and he grimaces.

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, hush,” Fubuki reassures him, kissing his cheek. “Everyone steps on their partner’s feet. It’s not a crime.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.” Fubuki confirms. “My little sister used to step on my feet all the time when we were learning how to dance as children.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t doing it on purpose?” Ryou teases, biting back a laugh at Fubuki’s exaggerated, scandalized gasp.

“My darling little sister? Stepping on my feet? On _purpose?_ ” He meets Ryou’s gaze for a second before glancing away, giggling. “Probably.”

No amount of self-control can keep _that_ laugh from coming out.


	8. Melting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Please don't stop!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Sexual Content" tag is for entries like this one - I like to practice writing these sorts of scenes, but I figured I would mention that ahead of time in case that's not your thing. 
> 
> Thank you!

He lost himself a long time ago, somewhere between Fubuki’s passionate kisses and his devastatingly deliberate touches. His whole body is trembling, every nerve-ending alight with sensation. It’s more than he thinks he can handle, but when Fubuki kisses him again, touches him again, he doesn’t want him to stop.

_Please don’t stop._

Ryou is panting, grasping helplessly at the sheets as Fubuki mouths lightly at his inner thigh. He’s been down there for a minute or so now, teasing the sensitive area for all it’s worth—it’s just as well, because Ryou swears he’s _this_ close to coming just from that alone. He doesn’t know how Fubuki _always_ manages to make him melt so easily, but it’s hard to even think about that when—

— _teeth_. Fubuki is biting him. Ryou clutches at his lover’s hair, legs shaking.

“Fubuki!”

He doesn’t possess the wherewithal to know or care if his voice is too loud. All he wants is more of this, and he whines, squirming underneath Fubuki’s focused attention.

“Fubuki, please,” he begs. “I’m—”

Teeth again. Ryou’s words and thoughts dissolve into a cry of pleasure, and as Fubuki slowly sucks a mark into his skin, he arches up, whimpering.

“Please,” he gasps. “Fubuki.”

_Please don’t stop._

He can’t catch his breath. He can’t stop shaking. He’s completely helpless to Fubuki’s every ministration, and even when he feels his lover moving back up his body, he can’t do anything but blindly grab his hair and pull him in for a desperate kiss. Fubuki moans into his mouth and Ryou clutches at him more insistently. _Stay close to me. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop._

“Easy, darling, easy,” Fubuki murmurs, and Ryou moans at the softness in his voice. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Fubuki,” he whimpers. It’s the only coherent thing he can manage. “Fubuki, _Fubuki—!_ ”

His voice breaks into a near-scream when Fubuki finally touches his arousal, fingers stroking lightly, carefully, _maddeningly_. He’s too wound up for this, but his lover is methodical in his techniques, not faltering for even a second. He knows what he wants from him, and he’s going to draw it out with all the patience and steadiness he possesses.

For all of his usual poise, Ryou knows he can’t take much more of this. Being on the receiving end of such rare and intense concentration is overwhelming, and the fact that Fubuki seems to know his own body better than he does isn’t helping. When he tightens his grip, Ryou keens, clinging to his shoulders—when Fubuki adjusts his pace, speeding up the slightest bit, Ryou chokes on a moan and lifts his hips, desperate for more of _that_. He’s so close.

He never wants this to end. He wants to be held like this forever, safe in Fubuki’s arms as he gives him everything he has. He wants to stay here, wrapped up in Fubuki as he slowly, _slowly_ takes him apart.

_Please don’t stop!_

“Breathe, love,” Fubuki soothes him. “You’re almost there. You’re alright. You’re so perfect.”

**_You’re_** _perfect,_ he wants to say, but he can’t speak. The sounds he’s making instead—he’s _mewling_ , wordless little cries of pleasure that make Fubuki groan and bury his face in his neck. It’s so good. _It’s so good._

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” Fubuki pants, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his throat. “You feel so good. You—” He cuts himself off with a choked moan when Ryou whimpers and clings to him tighter. “ _Fuck_ , Ryou, you’re _amazing_.”

Ryou doesn’t see it coming, is hardly even aware of what sets him off, but then all of the buildup is crashing down at once and his climax _drowns_ him. He might scream, he might not make a sound, he isn’t sure—all he knows is _Fubuki_ , the all-consuming sensations of _touch_ and _desire_ and _pleasure_ as he trembles in his lover’s arms.

For once, all he can do is _feel_.


	9. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want to duel **you**._

“Would you like to duel later?”

He doesn’t mean any harm by asking the question, nor is he expecting any to be taken. It had never bothered Fubuki before, so why should now be any different? They always dueled. They _loved_ to duel. More than anything, they loved to duel each other. Surely the year of separation between them couldn’t change that.

But something is wrong because Fubuki goes stiff where he’s sitting in the infirmary bed, his hands clenching in his lap. A beat of strangled silence passes, and Ryou realizes all at once that he’s _afraid._

“I—I can’t.”

He blinks, momentarily stunned by the refusal, by the unfamiliar tremor in Fubuki’s voice. Did he—did he just say he _couldn’t? Fubuki?_ The endlessly enthusiastic top-tier student who was _always_ excited to duel, no matter who was challenging him? It was impossible. Surely— _surely_ he’d misheard.

He must be making some sort of face because his friend scrambles to explain himself, taking one of his hands in both of his own to get his attention.

“It isn’t that I don’t _want_ to,” he clarifies, although something about the strange note of panic in his tone makes Ryou think otherwise. “I just—I can’t. I mean—” He laughs, a nervous, unfamiliar sound that curdles in Ryou’s stomach. “It would probably be really boring for you, yeah? You’re way ahead of me now! I’m not much of a proper rival anymore. You’d probably have a better time with Juudai or something.”

His expression is painfully earnest, but there’s a bizarre sort of desperation in his eyes that gives Ryou pause. Fubuki is lying to him. There is truth to his words, but the reason he’s giving isn’t the one that’s preventing him from accepting. The realization leaves him cold.

“I don’t want to duel my rival.” He says, perhaps a little too sharply. “I want to duel my friend.”

_I want to duel **you**_.

Fubuki swallows hard.

“I—I know,” he says weakly. “It’s just...”

He looks so uncertain that Ryou almost tells him to forget about it. It isn’t his business—he doesn’t _need_ to know the details of Fubuki’s newfound problems. If Fubuki wants to share those burdens with him, he’s more than welcome to, but it isn’t Ryou’s place to force it out of him. Heaven knows he wouldn’t be much help, anyway.

At the same time...before, they’d always told each other everything. Their bond was built on trust, on the mutual disclosure of secrets and self-doubts, of sharing their hopes and dreams and beds—they _knew_ each other in every possible way. Ryou had cherished that indescribable closeness more than anything else, had physically _ached_ for it in his lover’s absence. Are some things truly just too terrible to talk about? Has Fubuki really changed so much?

_...or is he the one who has changed?_

Fubuki fidgets, obviously wanting to make Ryou understand that he had no intention of trying to draw some sort of line between them. Ryou remains quiet as he waits, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

“I’m too scared.” He finally admits. He sounds heartbroken, defeated, almost humiliated. “I—I don’t know what’ll happen if I duel again. What I’ll remember. Who I’ll—who I’ll become.”

His eyes shift to Ryou, shadowed and apologetic. There’s a frightened ghost behind them, a tattered soul that the universe tried to rip to shreds. Although it had ultimately been unsuccessful, it had still left a trail of destruction in its wake, and now Ryou can see the broken pieces for what they are. Somehow, it hurts even worse than he’d expected it to.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryou shakes his head.

“It isn’t your fault.” He tries to reassure him, squeezing his hand in some pathetic attempt at encouragement. “Give it time. You’ll...you’ll figure it out for yourself.”

The words are clumsy and he knows it, but he’s surprised he even managed that much after all this time. Fubuki seems moved by the effort and squeezes his hand in return, offering him a small, hopeful smile. The profound sadness that lingers in his eyes says more than either of them would like.

Ryou doesn’t ask him again. The next time he duels Fubuki almost a year later, he sees those fears for himself, although by then he’s certainly in no place to really help him.

Not when he’s broken, too.


	10. Adoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fubuki has always shouted his love to the world, unafraid to sing songs from mountaintops. Ryou has never been afraid to be honest about such things, he just isn’t quite so loud about it.

Sometimes he watches him.

It’s a bit unlike him to do so—Ryou is a man of productivity, of keeping busy, of maximum efficiency. He likes to feel as though the day has been worth the time spent living in it, and for the most part, that sense of accomplishment is measured in check marks on to-do lists. His relentless work ethic is just a means to an end, really.

He’d learned in high school that productivity was not the only thing that made life worth living. He’d known that once, as most children do, but it had been lost somewhere in between his mother’s fatal illness and his father’s ever-growing distance. Unsurprisingly, Fubuki had been the one to remind him to slow down a little. He’s always been good at that.

Hence the watching. Specifically, watching Fubuki.

Ryou had been reading on the couch, enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon after a morning of chores, but it’s always so _easy_ to pay attention to Fubuki, instead. He has a way of commanding one’s notice without even trying, a presence that seems specially-tailored to make others focus on him, to make others _want_ to focus on him. Ryou is not immune to this inexplicable-yet-wholly-appropriate gravity, nor does he want to be. He _enjoys_ watching him.

His husband isn’t even doing anything particularly interesting—he’s just sitting on the floor next to Ryou, shuffling methodically through his deck—but that isn’t the point. It’s _how_ he’s doing it. It’s the fact that _he’s_ the one doing it.

It’s the way the afternoon sun shines on his long hair, the sound of the song he’s humming as he sorts his cards. It’s his deft, expert motions, his effortless grace, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates on the task at hand. It’s the way he radiates contentment, peace, joy. Such a simple method of passing the time, yet his appreciation for the chance to do so within Ryou’s immediate proximity is obvious to anyone.

Ryou loves him so much.

Fubuki has always shouted his love to the world, unafraid to sing songs from mountaintops. Ryou has never been afraid to be honest about such things, he just isn’t quite so loud about it. He loves Fubuki with a quiet fierceness, a profound sort of tenderness that’s intense enough to steal his breath and leave him aching if he thinks about it for too long. It’s the kind of bone-deep adoration his father still holds for his mother—it’s that same steadfast devotion that had them both falling to pieces the moment they realized the one they loved the most was gone forever.

But Ryou had gotten lucky. Fubuki was returned to him, and then they’d somehow managed to survive the entire damn _mess_ that had transpired in the subsequent years. His heart is finally whole again. They’d made it work. They’d fought for what they really wanted, for their own self-worth, for their shared future. They’d rebuilt themselves—and each other—stronger than they’d ever been before. They’d healed. Fubuki had given him a second chance.

And Ryou fell in love with him all the more for it.

He reaches out, stroking through Fubuki’s silky hair and twining a few of the dark strands around his finger. His husband doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, but he leans back so that his head is resting against Ryou’s leg and readily gets comfortable in that position. The song he’s humming changes its tune, becoming one of his favorites—one of _their_ favorites. It’s almost as if he’s spoken aloud.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Ryou smiles to himself, returning to his book, and continues to caress Fubuki’s hair with his free hand.

_I love you, too._


	11. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was such a kind gesture that, even on the heels of his lifelong nightmares, he could’ve sworn the whole world had stood still.

It had changed his life.

He’d been roused from his nightmares by someone else for the first time since his mother died, someone else’s hands stroking over his hair, someone else’s voice softly calling his name. For a moment, he’d almost thought it _was_ his mother—the touch was so gentle, the sound so calming, that the dark wash of painful memories had faded as if he was still five years old and she was still alive.

But it had been Fubuki, _Fubuki_ who had finally broken the unspoken rule of leaving Ryou alone to handle his own nightmares and come to his aid. He brought him back to reality with careful, practiced hands, soothing his involuntary shivers and tears until he’d slowly returned to himself. Perhaps he should’ve been embarrassed that his best friend had seen him up close in such a state, but he couldn’t be, not when Fubuki had pulled him into his arms and held him like no one ever had since—

_(“I’ll always be here for you,” he’d murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. The darkness of their dormitory couldn’t hide the warmth pressed into every syllable, the aching tenderness of Fubuki’s words. “You won’t be alone ever again.”)_

It was such a kind gesture that, even on the heels of his lifelong nightmares, he could’ve sworn the whole world had stood still.

From that moment forward, Fubuki’s kisses have always been _comfort_ , they’re _affection_ and _joy_ and _love_. The light ones he presses to the backs of Ryou’s fingers and hands are playful gestures of chivalry, while the forehead kisses—and God, how Ryou loves those forehead kisses—are sealed promises of eternal devotion.

When Fubuki kisses his cheek, he’s reminded of their numerous evenings at the lighthouse, of those early days when he still wondered _maybe, maybe?_ That fleeting instant at the end of their first year had lingered in his sensory memory for the entirety of Spring Break, and not a day had passed without some part of him wondering if it could somehow, _somehow_ mean what he so desperately wanted it to mean.

_(Their first kiss had occurred in the same place, Fubuki’s lips touching his with such gentle sweetness that he almost couldn’t believe it was really happening.)_

Their first time they kissed after Fubuki had been returned to him was different, nearly entirely unfamiliar in some ways, but no less profound for it. The tender and almost hesitant contact had quickly become desperate, both of them clinging to each other as though it could be the last time. They’d almost had a _last time_. They’d almost had a _never again_. They’d never considered that such a terrible thing could be possible before, being young and on top of the world, but they’d learned. They hadn’t had a choice. Ryou had buried himself in the feeling of it, in the feeling of _Fubuki_ , and had resolutely refused to ever leave.

_(And then he did, anyway.)_

That first kiss they shared after finally coming back together had nearly driven him to tears. So gentle. So soft. He’d shoved Fubuki away, had shoved _everyone_ away in a misguided effort to become stronger, but his beloved friend had still wanted all those dreams they’d shared. He still wanted _him_. The kiss had been the final bit of proof he’d needed to accept the truth: that no one was going to give up on him. _Especially_ not Fubuki.

Every kiss now is a reminder, a greeting, a wordless gesture of affection that Ryou is always more than happy to reciprocate. Every kiss tells him one more time, one more time, that he’s never going to be alone again.

Just like Fubuki had promised him.


	12. Music Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it’s the people in their lives that make these little things matter.

The view from Fubuki’s childhood bedroom window is a beautiful one, perfect for staring aimlessly out of for hours if one were so inclined. The ocean is clearly visible, as is the private shore—when the sun sets, it fills the whole room with light, casting everything in an ethereal, orange glow. Even Ryou feels the urge to stay still for a moment and just _breathe_ here. It’s nice.

The Tenjouin estate as a whole seems to have that effect on him, though. Every time they come here to visit Fubuki’s parents, it’s like a breath of fresh air, a good night’s rest, a perfect day with no stress. They could go on vacation just about anywhere if they chose to, but somehow, they always end up coming back here. Ryou doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Fubuki is currently sitting cross-legged on the floor, an intricate music box in his lap. Ryou has seen it many times now after all of their visits, but he hasn’t seen Fubuki interact with it like this before. Usually it just sits on his dresser, lovingly cared for but otherwise untouched in recent years. He wonders what’s inspired the newfound attention.

As if reading his mind, Fubuki glances up at him and smiles.

“I was trying to remember which song it plays,” he explains, still fiddling with the wind-up key on the back of the box. “I’m pretty sure it was that famous one from _Swan Lake_ , but Asuka told me it was from _The Nutcracker_.”

Ryou raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t she usually right?”

That earns him a laugh, the sound rivaling the sun with its ability to light up the room.

“Oh, definitely. But,” he lifts a finger for emphasis, “I’m almost _certain_ I’m right this time. Asuka’s music box played a song from _The Nutcracker_ , and I _know_ that mine played a different one.”

Ryou comes to sit on the floor next to him, watching how carefully Fubuki handles the little device. It’s clear that it’s precious to him, perhaps all the more so for its continued presence here, where he grew up, rather than their apartment—it’s a memory in and of itself, a cherished symbol of his childhood.

Ryou himself was never much of a trinket collector, and he can’t think of many childhood items that possess much sentimental value in his eyes. He’s never had a tendency to place much emotional worth on material items, unlike Fubuki, who could pack-bond with nearly anything and was somewhat prone to crying when the objects eventually had to be thrown away.

That being said, there are a few material possessions that matter to him. He has two family photographs from when he was young and his mother was still alive—he keeps one somewhere safe, and the other he carries in his wallet. He has his deck, of course. He has a little drawing that a three-year old Shou painstakingly scribbled him for his fifth birthday. When he’d been recovering in the hospital, his father had given him his mother’s favorite pair of hair ornaments, a gesture that had absolutely stunned him at the time.

Fubuki is wearing those hair ornaments now, and they glitter in the sunlight, the pearl accents and filigreed gold bright against his dark hair. Despite the music box’s lack of cooperation, he has a gentle smile on his face, no doubt reliving associated memories. Receiving the box as a gift, begging his parents to wind the key on the back again and again so he could listen to the song...Ryou just knows that he danced to it, he and Asuka both, performing while their parents clapped for their favorite ballerinas.

The box has meaning because of what it represents: a loving family, a happy childhood, an endless world filled with dreams. In the end, it’s the people in their lives that make these little things matter. 

Ryou is pulled from his thoughts by Fubuki’s exclamation of delight. He’s finally wound the key properly, and when he lifts the box’s lid, a lovely—albeit rather tinny, given the device’s small size—song begins to play. He isn’t as familiar with ballet suites as Fubuki is, but even he can recognize the main theme from _Swan Lake_ when he hears it. 

Fubuki beams at him, overjoyed and victorious. Ryou could say something in return, could make some sort of teasing remark about how he always remembers silly things like that, but he doesn’t.

He would much rather kiss him, instead.


	13. Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he wanted was to live in the moment with his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many big projects for these two, but of _course_ all I can finish are the little 500-word blurbs. At least it's something!

It starts with little things, harmless things. Cheerful suggestions to take impromptu walks, sudden but not unwelcome challenges to duels. Idle thoughts spoken aloud about exploring the island or going for a swim at the beach quickly become reality, and the world opens up a little more every day as new experiences come flooding in through the door.

In other words, Fubuki tends to live his life as he pleases, and Ryou is more than content to go along with him. He’s finding that it’s...fun to go outside for the pleasure of it, to enjoy the nice weather or to watch the sunset. He looks forward to the idle evenings spent quietly in each other’s company just as much as he anticipates the more exciting plans that Fubuki comes up with. The fact that he’s with his best friend just makes it that much easier to accept the gradual changes as they come.

It also makes it that much easier to _not_ notice the gradual changes as they come, which means that he doesn’t realize how impulsive he’s gotten until it’s too late to take it back. What’s even more embarrassing is that this fact only comes to his attention while he’s partaking in something that is arguably the most innocuous of all his recent adventures.

So, sure, he doesn’t catch onto his newfound spontaneity while they’re sneaking out after curfew or seeing who can do a better backflip off the dock (spoiler alert: it’s Fubuki), but it _does_ hit him in the face while they’re in the middle of performing a four-hand piano duet in the Obelisk Blue common area.

He doesn’t remember how Fubuki had convinced him to participate, only that he’d smiled and Ryou had immediately found himself agreeing before he could even think it through. Before he could recall that he doesn’t usually like to make himself the center of attention when he can help it. Before he could even bring himself to _care_ about any of that. Fubuki wanted to perform with him, and for once, the inevitable crowd of star-struck classmates didn’t matter. Being cautious didn’t matter. Being perfect didn’t matter.

All he wanted was to live in the moment with his best friend.

Now Fubuki is squeezing his shoulder and throwing him a brilliant grin as he soaks up the cheers of their audience. He’s gorgeous in all of his infinite radiance and Ryou can’t help but smile back, electrified by the adrenaline of doing something without ruminating on it first, of jumping in without hesitation.

“Shall we give them an encore?” Fubuki inquires, quirking a perfect eyebrow. “Or would you rather me take it from here?”

Breathless, alight, _alive_ , he nods.

“Yes.”

It doesn’t matter that he just answered an either/or question with an affirmation because Fubuki _knows_ him, he _knows_ what he meant. His eyes glitter with aching fondness as he gazes at him, appreciation and joy visible in his expression before he returns his attention to the piano. Ryou is ready and willing to follow him whatever he plays, whatever he does, wherever he goes.

He should be terrified, shouldn’t he? He’s _never_ been like this before. Being impulsive is for teenagers who don’t care about their futures, for people who can afford to be reckless. Being impulsive is for people like Fubuki, who take everything in stride and can make the best out of any situation. It isn’t for people like _him_ , who can’t afford to make any mistakes.

He isn’t supposed to be a normal teenager. He’s Marufuji Ryou, the pride of every instructor who has ever taught him, the responsible, intelligent, prodigious paragon that every parent wants their child to be. He’s supposed to stand above his peers, to be their envy and inspiration all at once. He’s supposed to be able to do this on his own, to be someone worth remembering by his accomplishments alone. He isn’t supposed to be impulsive. He isn’t supposed to just _live_.

But when he’s with Fubuki, _God, does he want to live._


End file.
